


A Good Day Means Pie

by endlessnepenthe



Series: Head and Shoulders, Paws and Tail [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Shapeshifting, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:37:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessnepenthe/pseuds/endlessnepenthe
Summary: They’ve never mentioned it, but they’re each aware.Even so, it’s still a shock to Dean when he arrives home — earlier than usual — and finds a long black tail flipping lazily through the air where it dangles over the edge of their loft.





	A Good Day Means Pie

They’ve never mentioned it, but they’re each aware.

(Castiel sees it in Dean whenever he’s angry, aggressive and defiant but loyal to no end. He sees it in Dean’s habit of grinning with all his straight white teeth exposed, tongue peeking out in between. It’s in Dean’s subtle way of being territorial: stalking around the house at night to check all the doors and windows before he can settle down to sleep, unblinkingly watching anyone who makes any sudden moves around Castiel, casual fleeting touches like he’s staking a claim. Castiel smells it in Dean’s scent — something wild and warm, rich and earthy like the good dark dirt, sharp with the underlying hint of pine tree.)

Dean sees it in Castiel whenever he’s angry, more passive aggressive and stubborn but loyal to no end. He sees it in Castiel’s habit of seeking out high places and curling up in little nooks smaller than he is, folding his limbs impossibly close to his body. It’s in Castiel’s subtle way of being territorial: stealing Dean’s blankets and jackets (but only at home), discreetly tracking anyone who makes any sudden moves around Dean, deliberate fleeting touches like he’s staking a claim. Dean smells it in Castiel’s scent — something wild and cold, clean and stormy like the frigid biting winds of the Arctic, sharp with the underlying hint of fresh ozone.

It’s not exactly something they could just talk about unless they were both willing to address it, so it’s been left alone.

Humming absently, Dean gently cradles a warm box in his lap as he drives home. He’d been promoted and given the rest of the day off, so he’s in an excellent mood.

Carefully parking the Impala, Dean saunters into the house, peering back into the garage to make sure the outer door is firmly shut before locking the one that leads into the house. The box is placed on top of the single step at the entryway for a moment, Dean hopping awkwardly around the lower tiled area around the front door as he tugs his boots off.

He leaves the box on the kitchen table, keys and wallet on the designated counter, jacket on one of the plush sofas in the living room. When Dean breathes back in after a soft sigh, he finally notices the scent in the air.

Shoulders straightening, Dean raises his chin and takes a deeper breath, his head instinctively turning toward the stairs. The house reeks of ozone and the stench of lightning, partially faded by time and the open windows, but it’s still lingering enough to ignite concern in Dean’s belly. He knows sharp scents — like his own pine needles — only appeared with emotions on the negative end of the spectrum like anger or fear, meaning Dean’s about to step into dangerous territory.

Dean feels himself reacting and takes a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm.

_ No hackles, _ he scolds himself. _ Calm down now, that’s it. _

Padding up the stairs, Dean makes sure to step on a creaky area as he goes; he doesn’t want to startle someone that might be furious. Cautiously, Dean enters the master bedroom, glancing up at the loft bed with rightful amounts of apprehension. And promptly does a double take, because that’s a _ tail _ hanging over the edge, long and black. It moves occasionally, flipping and curling lazily where it dangles straight into empty air.

A short irritated growl rings out, low and rumbling, the deep sound shaking Dean’s bones and sending involuntary shivers down his spine; he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snarling back. Dean squints up at the ceiling when he hears the sound of rustling sheets, catching sight of a shadow twisting around restlessly on the bed. Then the tail stiffens, cutting through the air once before it retreats.

Glittering sapphire eyes blink down at Dean from the dark form, rounded ears flicking forward and long tail waving slowly. Dean warily watches the giant cat — it stares steadily back.

“...Cas?”

Silence. The cat stands and crouches, muscles bunching. Stubborn, Dean stood his ground, heart picking up speed in his chest.

Ignoring the sturdy wooden stairs at the side, the giant feline leaps straight off the edge of the loft, landing heavily but silently a few paces away from Dean. Now that it’s closer, Dean can see the slim face, strong legs meant for climbing, even the faint outline of spots near the slightly lighter dark fur of its belly.

_ Leopard. Black. ‘s gotta be Cas. _ There is absolutely no way that this leopard in front of Dean is not Castiel — Dean would recognize that scent anywhere. The bright blue eyes are also a solid indicator.

Nose twitching, the leopard stalks purposefully toward Dean. Dean takes a half aborted step backward before he could stop himself, just barely shoving down the urge to tuck his nonexistent tail between his legs and run. The leopard pauses, blinks, and continues forward.

“Uh—”

Castiel nudges Dean’s hand, huffing a gentle breath against the thin skin of his wrist. Frozen — in shock, mostly, and just a little bit of fear, because c’mon, any person with a functioning brain would be afraid of a huge apex predator next to them — in place, Dean focuses his attention on breathing properly as Castiel circles languidly around him, tail brushing against Dean’s arms.

Dean clears his throat. “Not that this isn’t… great, but I need to shower.”

Castiel pauses where he’s brushing his head against Dean’s leg. After a moment, he growls and slinks away without a single backward glance.

Taking that as permission, Dean bustles to the closet, grabs some fresh clothes, and scurries into the bathroom. He turns the events over in his head as he stands under the hot water in utter bliss. Castiel has shown Dean — even if it was unintentionally — so it’s only fair that Dean show Castiel, right?

It’s already difficult for Dean to scent another room through the little gaps of a closed door, but with the strong aroma of soap permeating the enclosed air around him, it’s flat out impossible. So he resolves to gauge Castiel’s mood after his shower and only proceed if it’s safe.

Dragging a hand through his wet hair in a careless attempt to tame it into some form of tidy, Dean pokes his head out of the bathroom along with a cloud of shampoo scented steam, sniffing hesitantly at the air. Clean storm greets him, fresh and frozen as the top of a high mountain, only without the altitude change. There’s a thin hint of electrically charred air but Castiel smells mostly neutral and calm again, if not a little agitated and on edge.

Dean ruffles a hand through his damp hair one last time, crouching down to press the tips of his fingers to deep brown hardwood. All the muscles in his body tense as he pushes them to change. A handful of seconds later, Dean’s staring down the length of a muzzle with eyes that are miles better than any human’s; instantly, he’s regretting his decision, because stairs are much easier with two feet instead of four large paws.

But he can’t do anything about it — save turning back again — so Dean determinedly heads for the stairs, ears flattened to his head in discomfort. It’s awkward, clambering up with his nails scratching against the wood, but he powers through.

Castiel’s sprawled on his side with his legs tangled in a fluffy comforter and upper body supported on a multitude of pillows, slender fingers lost in the excess fabric of long black hoodie sleeves. It’s quite clearly Dean’s from the way it pools in soft folds around Castiel’s hips, collar area wide enough to expose some skin beneath the graceful slant of delicate collarbones. He looks exhausted, breathing softly as he dozed peacefully in the last warm beams of late afternoon sunshine, streaming in through the slanted skylight built into the ceiling just above the bed.

Crawling closer on his belly, Dean cranes his neck to bump his nose against Castiel’s arm, gentle enough that it shouldn’t wake someone really sleeping. Castiel shifts — Dean doesn’t miss the way his nose wiggled with a light sniff — and sighs an airy breath.

“Dean,” Castiel purrs, blindly reaching out.

Dean ducks to avoid being smacked across the snout and Castiel’s hand lands right on his head; he absolutely does _ not _ whine like a touch starved puppy (it’s a small victory), holding himself still as Castiel’s confused fingers explore the fur around one pointed ear.

One sleepy blue eye blinks open in a squint; it takes a split second for Castiel to process exactly what he was seeing, and then both his eyes are going wide. Dean snuffles, dropping his head to his paws, tail swishing against the comforter. Castiel’s shock changes impressively quickly to something akin to awe, absently scratching behind Dean’s ear; he can’t seem to stop his eyes from roaming all over, and Dean understands — it’s not every day you see a giant grey wolf lying quiet and docile on your bed in front of you.

Dean’s guilty of preening — just a little! — under Castiel’s gaze. He’s relatively proud of his appearance, especially his fur: a beautiful gradient of black on his back and near his neck; fading to silvery steel grey on his sides and his head; snow white on his snout, chin, belly, legs, and feet. There are areas of blond so dark it’s practically brown scattered around his tail and head (mainly around his neck, ears, and nose), the exact shade of human Dean’s hair. The outer layer of his fur is a little rough to the touch, but the blindingly white fur underneath, near his skin, is soft as down and— Castiel has inevitably figured that out, because he’s sinking his fingers as deep as he could into Dean’s thick fur with a delighted hum.

“Beautiful,” Castiel breathes, and Dean raises his head to touch his nose to Castiel’s.

Playfully ruffling the fur around Dean’s neck, Castiel giggles, bright and happy. Tongue lolling, Dean butts his nose just under Castiel’s chin to lick his jaw. Castiel laughs, gently shoving Dean away; he retaliates by licking a long wet stripe up Castiel’s palm.

“Stop that,” Castiel gasps out between bouts of laughter.

Dean headbutts Castiel’s shoulder, turning and scrambling head first down the stairs with a soft controlled bark.

“Okay— Give me a sec,” Castiel calls down, struggling to free himself from the nest of comforter, blankets, and pillows.

By the time Castiel’s stumbling down the steps, Dean’s back on two legs, grinning with his arms held out.

“You’re home early.” Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s torso, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder.

“Got promoted,” Dean murmurs. “And pie.”

“Oh.”

Dean can’t lie, he’s just a _ little _ bit put out by the lack of response. And then Catiel’s gasping a louder _ Oh!, _ pulling back with a childlike excited expression before he’s kissing Dean. Clutching at Castiel until they’re pressed — knees, thighs, hips, chest — together, Dean feels himself melting into the soft heat of Castiel’s mouth, drunk on the sensation of a sly tongue sliding against his own.

There’s a beautiful pink flush on Castiel’s cheeks when they finally part, and Dean can sense the same heat warming his face. Castiel’s small smile is so full of love and adoration when he leaned their foreheads together, Dean’s heart stutters over a beat in his chest. He decides not to mention Castiel’s earlier terrible mood; it seems to have been made scarce since Dean’s return, so he chalks it up to just a bad day.

Depositing a light kiss on the tip of Castiel’s nose — to Castiel’s great delight — Dean grins. “Pie? I got it from that really good place.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They meander to the kitchen with their shoulders pressed together, hand in hand, Dean absentmindedly fidgeting with the band on Castiel’s ring finger.

Dean’s hair ends up drying in soft chaotic hedgehog tufts on his head; Castiel laughs until Dean’s ears flush red, and Dean, childishly petty, runs his fingers through Castiel’s dark messy hair until it stands up in absurd angles. They smile at each other between bites of the mostly cold apple pie they’d split in half — Dean steals multiple bites from Castiel’s half so he technically eats more of the pie than Castiel, but that’s his little secret to keep, even if Castiel’s fond look says otherwise.

Castiel’s yawning widely as he pads back into their bedroom, all straight blunt white teeth and pink tongue. Then, with the smoothest transition Dean has ever seen, Castiel’s completing his yawn with a mouthful of sharp jagged teeth and long fang like incisors, landing on four massive paws without a sound. Dark tail swishing, Castiel bounds up the stairs to their loft in a single leap, circling around on the bed before flopping down. _ Get up here, _ his eyes seem to demand, and who is Dean to deny him?

Enthusiasm lends a helping hand and although it’s still not as elegant and refined as Castiel’s, Dean’s change is more fluid this time. He bounds up the stairs, paws only touching down on wood once, falling rather gracelessly onto the bed next to Castiel when his paws get tangled in a blanket.

And although felines and canines are widely known for their infamous inability to get along, Castiel and Dean are perfectly comfortable curled up next to each other. More like _ on _ each other, actually: Dean’s front paws on top of Castiel’s, one of Castiel’s hind legs over both of Dean’s, Dean’s fluffy tail resting on Castiel’s slim one (although Castiel occasionally curls the tip of his over on top). Castiel’s head is on Dean’s shoulder and Dean’s on Castiel’s, yin and yang, both of them lazily grooming the other as far as they could reach without shifting their comfortably balanced positions. The fading beams of the setting sun bathes gleaming dark fur in a calm fiery light, glowing prettily on the blank white parts of Dean’s pelt.

They fall asleep, warm and safe and relaxed, only waking up in the middle of the night with loudly complaining stomachs and the belated realization that they had forgotten about dinner.


End file.
